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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Стр. 69/72
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Could
she
inflict
that
still
?
And
then
,
quietly
,
as
if
she
refrained
,
that
too
became
part
of
ordinary
experience
,
was
on
a
level
with
the
chair
,
with
the
table
.
Mrs.
Ramsay
--
it
was
part
of
her
perfect
goodness
--
sat
there
quite
simply
,
in
the
chair
,
flicked
her
needles
to
and
fro
,
knitted
her
reddish-brown
stocking
,
cast
her
shadow
on
the
step
.
There
she
sat
.
And
as
if
she
had
something
she
must
share
,
yet
could
hardly
leave
her
easel
,
so
full
her
mind
was
of
what
she
was
thinking
,
of
what
she
was
seeing
,
Lily
went
past
Mr.
Carmichael
holding
her
brush
to
the
edge
of
the
lawn
.
Where
was
that
boat
now
?
And
Mr.
Ramsay
?
She
wanted
him
.
Mr.
Ramsay
had
almost
done
reading
.
One
hand
hovered
over
the
page
as
if
to
be
in
readiness
to
turn
it
the
very
instant
he
had
finished
it
.
He
sat
there
bareheaded
with
the
wind
blowing
his
hair
about
,
extraordinarily
exposed
to
everything
.
He
looked
very
old
.
He
looked
,
James
thought
,
getting
his
head
now
against
the
Lighthouse
,
now
against
the
waste
of
waters
running
away
into
the
open
,
like
some
old
stone
lying
on
the
sand
;
he
looked
as
if
he
had
become
physically
what
was
always
at
the
back
of
both
of
their
minds
--
that
loneliness
which
was
for
both
of
them
the
truth
about
things
.
He
was
reading
very
quickly
,
as
if
he
were
eager
to
get
to
the
end
.
Indeed
they
were
very
close
to
the
Lighthouse
now
.
There
it
loomed
up
,
stark
and
straight
,
glaring
white
and
black
,
and
one
could
see
the
waves
breaking
in
white
splinters
like
smashed
glass
upon
the
rocks
.
One
could
see
lines
and
creases
in
the
rocks
.
One
could
see
the
windows
clearly
;
a
dab
of
white
on
one
of
them
,
and
a
little
tuft
of
green
on
the
rock
.
A
man
had
come
out
and
looked
at
them
through
a
glass
and
gone
in
again
.
So
it
was
like
that
,
James
thought
,
the
Lighthouse
one
had
seen
across
the
bay
all
these
years
;
it
was
a
stark
tower
on
a
bare
rock
.
It
satisfied
him
.
It
confirmed
some
obscure
feeling
of
his
about
his
own
character
.
The
old
ladies
,
he
thought
,
thinking
of
the
garden
at
home
,
went
dragging
their
chairs
about
on
the
lawn
.
Old
Mrs.
Beckwith
,
for
example
,
was
always
saying
how
nice
it
was
and
how
sweet
it
was
and
how
they
ought
to
be
so
proud
and
they
ought
to
be
so
happy
,
but
as
a
matter
of
fact
,
James
thought
,
looking
at
the
Lighthouse
stood
there
on
its
rock
,
it
's
like
that
.
He
looked
at
his
father
reading
fiercely
with
his
legs
curled
tight
.
They
shared
that
knowledge
.
"
We
are
driving
before
a
gale
--
we
must
sink
,
"
he
began
saying
to
himself
,
half
aloud
,
exactly
as
his
father
said
it
.
Nobody
seemed
to
have
spoken
for
an
age
.
Cam
was
tired
of
looking
at
the
sea
.
Little
bits
of
black
cork
had
floated
past
;
the
fish
were
dead
in
the
bottom
of
the
boat
.
Still
her
father
read
,
and
James
looked
at
him
and
she
looked
at
him
,
and
they
vowed
that
they
would
fight
tyranny
to
the
death
,
and
he
went
on
reading
quite
unconscious
of
what
they
thought
.
It
was
thus
that
he
escaped
,
she
thought
.
Yes
,
with
his
great
forehead
and
his
great
nose
,
holding
his
little
mottled
book
firmly
in
front
of
him
,
he
escaped
.
You
might
try
to
lay
hands
on
him
,
but
then
like
a
bird
,
he
spread
his
wings
,
he
floated
off
to
settle
out
of
your
reach
somewhere
far
away
on
some
desolate
stump
.
She
gazed
at
the
immense
expanse
of
the
sea
.
The
island
had
grown
so
small
that
it
scarcely
looked
like
a
leaf
any
longer
.
It
looked
like
the
top
of
a
rock
which
some
wave
bigger
than
the
rest
would
cover
.
Yet
in
its
frailty
were
all
those
paths
,
those
terraces
,
those
bedrooms
--
all
those
innumberable
things
.
But
as
,
just
before
sleep
,
things
simplify
themselves
so
that
only
one
of
all
the
myriad
details
has
power
to
assert
itself
,
so
,
she
felt
,
looking
drowsily
at
the
island
,
all
those
paths
and
terraces
and
bedrooms
were
fading
and
disappearing
,
and
nothing
was
left
but
a
pale
blue
censer
swinging
rhythmically
this
way
and
that
across
her
mind
.
It
was
a
hanging
garden
;
it
was
a
valley
,
full
of
birds
,
and
flowers
,
and
antelopes
...
She
was
falling
asleep
.
"
Come
now
,
"
said
Mr.
Ramsay
,
suddenly
shutting
his
book
.
Come
where
?
To
what
extraordinary
adventure
?
She
woke
with
a
start
.
To
land
somewhere
,
to
climb
somewhere
?
Where
was
he
leading
them
?
For
after
his
immense
silence
the
words
startled
them
.
But
it
was
absurd
.
He
was
hungry
,
he
said
.
It
was
time
for
lunch
.
Besides
,
look
,
he
said
.
"
There
's
the
Lighthouse
.
We
're
almost
there
.
"
"
He
's
doing
very
well
,
"
said
Macalister
,
praising
James
.
"
He
's
keeping
her
very
steady
.
"
